


Tales Told

by georgiamagnolia



Series: What if he really is Illya Kuryakin? [2]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E., NCIS
Genre: Alternate Future, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiamagnolia/pseuds/georgiamagnolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of old friends snowed in for a weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales Told

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was done with my MFU/NCIS crossingover, but I wasn't.

“How did you adjust?”

He looked around the cozy livingroom of the brownstone that still felt new to him and then back to Napoleon. “I got rid of the dogs. I sold the house. I dated younger women.” Taking a long swallow of his vodka, Ducky continued, “I didn’t adjust so much as avoid.”

Napoleon recognized that clipped and crisp English school accent as the one Illya used when he wanted to direct attention somewhere else, anywhere else. Napoleon smiled, a little rueful. “Is that what I am doing? Avoiding?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you are just keeping an old friend company for a few days.” Ducky’s voice softened back to the quiet Scots accent he’d been affecting for decades, one he’d made his own by now.

Napoleon saluted his friend with his glass, “In that case, I thank you for the distraction, partner.”

“Any time, my friend. Though I am not sure we could really be described as partners all these years later.”

“Old habit, I’m afraid. I will always think of you as my partner. Even when you are examining dead bodies and telling unlikely tales to your co-workers.”

“That’s it, I am not allowing you into Autopsy ever again.” But Ducky laughed as he said it.

“I will do my best to avoid getting snowed in Washington during the work week in future.”

“Blockhead, you will always be welcome. Of course, young Abigail would be more than happy to keep you in the lab if I were to ban you from my office.’

“Ah, yes. I believe she would, but you won’t allow that. I know too much, and she is very clever at getting information, you know.”

“I do know. Perhaps you’d be safer with me.”

“You’d be safer, perhaps.”

The sound of a timer interrupted them and Ducky left to check dinner in the oven. When he returned to the room he found Napoleon studying a bottle on the shelf where he kept an assortment of memories.

“When did you become a cognac man?”

“I didn’t. It was, ah, a gift.”

Napoleon turned with a raised brow, hands still clasped behind his back. It was such a reminder of the past, his partner inviting explanation without saying a word, that Illya could only smile. “I will tell you over dinner. Come, it’s ready.

***  
 _  
He could only imagine the look on the Director’s face as she listened with the rest of the team to his conversation with the Frenchman; spinning him some tale about a nickname that wasn’t even his, not really. The others would think it was a slip, that he’d forgotten his undercover legend, that he was too green for this work. If they only knew. He’d been in deep cover so long now that he no longer even dreamed in his native language. Telling this arms dealer he was duping a tale of false boyhood helped to anchor him, to set his mind to remembering that this was just one more assignment. The truth was he hadn’t lived through the blitz, not the one perpetrated upon London. His story, his real story, was that of the siege of Kiev. That was a story he would never again tell. This imaginary escapade in the tunnels of wartime London added to his current legend, the one that he lived every day. He recognized his melancholy for what it was, but what caused the matching melancholy in the eyes of his mark? Could it be that the Frenchman was looking for a way out of his own web of lies? The moment passed too swiftly for him to be sure it had even happened and then events were moving along and his target was on his way and he was free of both his false memories and the scrutiny of his coworkers. And all he had was the gift of a bottle of alcohol to show for it.  
_  
***

“So you find yourself roped into acting out the part of this English arms dealer, your director thinking you will pull this off because of course you are Scots and nobody, especially a Frenchman, can tell the difference.” Napoleon laughed, and so did Illya.

“Oh, yes. I am certain she would have found the entire thing very funny if it had been any other arms dealer we were running a sting on. She had some kind of history with the man, made her lose all sense of humour and perspective where he was concerned. Tragedy, really. We might have gotten some useful information from him if we’d tried another tack.”

“Unfortunately the spy business breeds a whole wealth of ‘what if’ and ‘if only’.”

The two were silent for a moment, separate memories of years filled with their own ‘what if’ passing in seconds.

“We’re doing a terrible job of having a wake for your Aunt Amy, Napoleon,” Illya shook the past off and rose from the table. “We should be recounting tales of her misadventures and remembering her fondly, not regretting things we cannot change.”

“You do realize that none of us are Irish, Illya?”

“That matters?”

“No, I suppose we can have a wake for Aunt Amy despite our ancestry. She would have approved, in any case.” Napoleon rose as well and started to clear the table.

“Oh leave it, Napoleon, the glory of living alone is that no one can get angry with you for ignoring a mess for the night.”

Napoleon looked up to see that Illya had already turned toward the livingroom. He caught up as Illya was pulling down the bottle of cognac.

“Are you sure, partner?”

“It is long past time we shared a drink over the names of our dead, Napoleon. I think Rene would have approved.” Illya poured and turned to Napoleon, holding out a glass. Napoleon took it and raised it to meet Illya’s.

“Absent friends, Napoleon.”

“And present, Illya.”


End file.
